


In deep of night to walk by this Herne’s oak

by a_la_grecque



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_la_grecque/pseuds/a_la_grecque
Summary: With the Dark vanquished and the Light's choice to let him forget, is Bran becoming more open to Wild magic?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoke/gifts).



They keep in touch, after... everything.  
It feels like something terribly significant happened between them all in Wales, something more than just meeting and enjoying the scenery and mocking the inferior type of tourist. Bran supposes it's just a symptom of growing up, a sign of teenage dramatics that's led him to assign significance to unimportant events. 

He visits Will, the next summer. Again, it seems there was some pressing reason for Will to come to him, in the past, but he can't think of it now. He's absurdly delighted by the novelty of Will's enormous family, but privately thinks he'd go crazy if he had to live with it for more than a few weeks of the summer. He remembers Mary's visit of two years ago - he'd though that her chatter was endless enough, and now with her sisters there too it's multiplied three-fold. He'll never stop teasing Will about what his family calls a farm, either, although secretly he loves the hours he and Will spend in companionable silence, feeding and mucking out the rabbits. He learns the value of quiet in a busy family - there's no charged silences here, just solace. 

The days pass easily enough, until Will takes him to Windsor Great Park one day. James tags along, but after an hour or so of walking under the summer sun he declares he's had enough and finds a shady tree to nap under. Will and Bran wander on, until they come to a great oak tree. Will tells him the legend of Herne the Hunter, and something in it tugs at Bran, catches him and won't let him walk away. His golden eyes grow wide at the tales of relentless hounds, red-mouthed and red-eyed, streaking across the sky at the behest of their wild master. He's not sure if it's just because Will's a good storyteller, or that his story's bringing to mind his own white pup, silver-eyed and running from the wind not riding it, but he can almost hear the yelping.

"It's only a legend," Will tells him, "And this isn't even the original oak tree." It sounds to Bran like he's trying to convince himself it isn't true. Eventually Will gives up and leaves him to it. "It's Lammastide anyway, there's nothing to fear from the hunt except in winter." Almost as an afterthought, as he's walking back to join his brother, he says "You're smart enough that you don't need to fear him, raven boy. It's just the rooks he's after."

 _Raven boy,_ Bran thinks. _When was the last time he called me raven boy? He's never called me raven boy._ He walks around the great tree a while longer, self-consciously pressing his hands to the bark and stepping back half-relieved and half-disappointed when he feels nothing, no connection, no surge of power. He shakes his head. It would be a fine life, true freedom to hunt and ride to the ends of the earth. He can think of a few people he wouldn't mind hunting as well. Will's almost apologetic when he comes back to pull him away, reminding him they should get home in time for tea, or more likely supper. 

Bran's a little subdued at supper that night, but no one seems to notice or mind. He's always a little quiet, growing up in a small family of few words hasn't equipped him for these noisy gatherings, so he usually follows Will's example and keeps his plate and mouth full as much as possible. He's barely eating tonight though, his golden eyes are blank and half a world away. Will talks to him after though, asks him if he's feeling ok. 

"Maybe a touch of sunstroke," Bran replies, and takes himself to bed early. 

He's staying with Will in the attic, the skylight's propped open but it's still stifling and Bran feels the sweat beading on his brow as he climbs the stairs. Still, he falls asleep easily enough, with just a sheet to cover him on the mattress they'd dragged up from James' bedroom on the day he arrived. He's restless though, restless and dreaming. His dreams are often confused these days, swords and cups, hawthorn blossoms, sea green eyes and robes, and sometimes just the sea. They don't often stay with him for long but they never fall away easily, he feels like he's being sucked into a whirlpool everytime he wakes. 

He wakes suddenly this night, and he's been dreaming of something different. Golden eyes, at first like he's looking in a mirror but they never blink and he sees the feathers fringed around them, the mouth twisted into a smile and the hand raised in invitation. He couldn't say what wakes him, not really, he's sure he can hear howls coming from outside but no one else is stirring so he tells himself he's mistaken. He scrubs at his eyes and finds tiny feathers caught in his lashes. He blames the feather pillow he's been resting on, pushes it aside and wills himself back to sleep. 

* 

Will watches, because that's what his masters told him to do. He watches and he remembers, the cruelty of the hunter, the petty anger of the Greenwitch. He watches and he worries, that the Light have made one last and terrible mistake. He watches and he wonders, what will his friend make of himself to fill up the spaces that the Light left behind. 


End file.
